


Thirst Trap

by PumpkinDoodles



Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [41]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Brock has a nephew in this one, F/M, Fallon and Angela are mentioned, M/M, Tumblr Prompt, poor Dave
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-12
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:14:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25867234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PumpkinDoodles/pseuds/PumpkinDoodles
Summary: Darcy befriends the new intern. It turns out his uncle isthatSTRIKE Commander.
Relationships: Darcy Lewis/Brock Rumlow, Jack Rollins/Original Male Character(s)
Series: Taserbones Tumblr Prompts & Tiny (Adorkable) Fics [41]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1484168
Comments: 222
Kudos: 681





	1. Insta-Lurking and Italian Kennedys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing! Anonymous asked: What if Brock had an older son/nephew who hangs out with Darcy and Brock is convinced the kid is in love with her so he just quietly pines. But the kid just likes complaining to Darcy about the embarrassing thirst trap pics Brock posts on insta. Kinda inspired by that tweet about a 22 year old and his dad both looking good and Frank Grillo's instagram

“Your uncle is _Commander Rumlow?”_ Darcy said, gobsmacked. She’d only been working at SHIELD with Jane for a little over a year, but everyone knew Rumlow by sight. He was famously a triple agent, had infiltrated HYDRA, been badly burned, done a long-term undercover thing as a wacko mercenary, and had Cap fake his death, before re-emerging all healed and pretty, thanks to Helen Cho. The story was infamous, right up there with Cap kissing both Carter women. The intern sitting across from Darcy at the Mexican restaurant smiled sheepishly.

“Yeah,” Dave said. “I mean, yes? He’s my mom’s older brother. She would want me to tell you that she had me young. Very young.” 

“Yeah?” Darcy said, scrunching her nose.

“She’s thirty-eight,” Dave supplied promptly, like this was a normal part of a mother-son routine. He raked a hand through his hair and sighed. 

“What’s wrong?” Darcy asked, aiming for sympathy. Dave was slight and curly-haired and only twenty. He gave her distinct Cameron Klein vibes. Darcy had volunteered to mentor him.

“It’s a lot to live up to. At my age, my mom had a baby and my uncle was already in the Navy. He’s probably the reason they gave me the internship in the Technical Analysis division,” he said. “I can’t even decide if I really _want_ to major in political science.” 

“You don’t have to decide today,” Darcy said.

“But I have to eventually,” he said.

“Not really,” Darcy said. “I put off declaring a final major until I was twenty-three.” She grinned at him.

“They’d kill me,” Dave said. “My grandma wants me to major in something impressive.”

“Does she not like political science?” Darcy asked. He shook his head. 

“Oh, no. She thinks I’ll be, like, a Kennedy,” Dave said. “An Italian Kennedy.”

“So, a Cuomo?” she said lightly, smiling. Dave sighed and leaned in.

“They don’t know I’m gay,” he confessed.

“Oh,” Darcy said. She said the first thing that came to mind. “I’m pretty sure your uncle wouldn’t mind—that agent he works with is gay? Rollins? I think they’re good friends...”

“Yeah,” Dave said. “I’m not worried about him, just the rest of the family.” He grinned. “Agent Rollins is so hot, though. And the accent. So fucking dreamy.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said.

“What?” Dave said. 

“To be honest, I think your uncle is better-looking,” Darcy admitted. He gaped at her for a second, eyes going bright.

“You have a crush!” Dave said. 

“Sorry,” she said. “This is embarrassing.” He snorted.

“Darce, half of legal has tried to get his number from me,” Dave said.

“Whoops,” she told him, laughing.

* * *

“Hey,” a low, gravelly voice was saying as Darcy was being chased by Dark Elves in her dreams. “Wake up, you’re having a nightmare, honey.” Darcy’s eyes fluttered open. Someone was looming over her. “You okay?” the owner of a pair of worried brown eyes asked. Darcy blinked and realized it wasn’t Dave.

“C-commander Rumlow?” Darcy stuttered.

“Yeah. You Dave’s friend?” he said.

“Yes,” Darcy said, turning her head. She had morning breath. She had fallen asleep on Rumlow’s couch after a movie. Dave was living with him. “He thought you would be gone. Sorry,” she added.

“Mission ended early,” Rumlow said. He shifted back into a chair and Darcy was able to relax a fraction. He was wearing a black tank top and gray sweatpants. She didn’t let her gaze rest on his body too long. “There are people at SHIELD who can help you,” he said.

“What?” she said.

“You have nightmares a lot?” he asked. “It’s not unusual.”

“Oh,” Darcy said, grasping his point. “Thank you.” She moved the blanket and stood up. “I’m just going to go—”

“Okay,” he said, looking doubtful.

“I appreciate the, um, concern,” Darcy told him. “Tell Dave I got home okay, please?”

“Sure, yeah,” he said. He actually walked her to the door. “You drive safe now. Goodnight, Darcy.”

Darcy was in her car and at a stoplight when she realized she’d never introduced herself.  
  


* * *

“Hey, Davey,” his uncle said, when Dave shuffled out of the guest bedroom, yawning. Brock was in the kitchen. It was evident to Dave that he’d been to the gym already. “You want coffee?” he offered.

“Yea--oh, hi,” Dave said awkwardly. Hot Agent Rollins was leaning against the opposite kitchen counter.

“G’day,” Rollins said. He didn’t have a shirt on. Dave tried not to stare. He was afraid Rollins caught his open-mouthed, swooning micro-expression, though, because the other man actually grinned at him. It was terrifying. Hot, but terrifying.

“Your girlfriend left,” his uncle said.

“Huh?” Dave said, turning his head.

“I’m not your Nonna or Fallon,” Brock added, sounding oddly aggrieved. “You don’t have to make a girl sleep on the couch for me. You know I think that’s dumb shit.”

“What?” Dave repeated, then realized what he meant. _“Oh._ You mean Darcy,” he said, rubbing his head. “She’s not--we’re just friends. She’s my work mentor, Uncle Brock.”

“Work mentor,” Brock said, shaking his head as he passed Dave a coffee mug. “You hear the kids now?” He looked at Rollins. “He doesn’t even want to claim Foster’s babe assistant as a girlfriend,” Brock said. Rollins chuckled. 

“You think Darcy’s a babe?” Dave said, stunned. He stared at Brock. His uncle snorted. 

“Even I can clock she’s a beauty,” Rollins said, as Dave took a nervous sip of coffee.

“Oh yeah,” Brock mused. “Total babe.”

“She’s too old for me,” Dave said automatically. That sounded like a good excuse, right?

“What is she, twenty-five? That’s not so bad, pal, if you really like her,” Brock said. “And I’m happy to run interference with Fal--”

“She’s thirty-three,” Dave cut in, feeling oddly flustered by his uncle’s willingness to take on his mother. 

“What?” his uncle said.

“Darcy’s thirty-three,” he said.

“Might be a little too close to your mom’s age,” Brock admitted. He looked at Rollins. “My sister’s vain about being the youngest mom in any group.”

“Yes.” Dave sighed. “She is.” Something about his tone made Rollins laugh. 

* * *

“My uncle thinks you’re a babe and that we’re hooking up or something,” Dave said, plopping down in a chair next to Darcy in she and Jane’s lab. Darcy looked at him in surprise. Jane Foster had clearly been doing math on a whiteboard, but now was asleep with her face in a book. He felt free to talk openly. “Is she drooling?” Dave wondered, peering around Darcy’s chair.

“Oh, yeah,” Darcy said, turning to look at Jane. “Hold on, I gotta save her book.” Dave watched as Darcy slid the book out from under Foster’s cheek at the same time she eased a blanket underneath the scientist’s face. “Much better,” she said, patting Jane’s hair. The gesture was strangely mom-like. Darcy turned back to him. “He thinks _I’m_ a babe?” She waggled her eyebrows.

“Yes,” Dave said. “The phrase used was total babe, to be precise.”

“Okay,” Darcy said, looking a little pink. “Accurate, but okay.”

“Also, I saw Rollins without a shirt before 8am and now my brain is broken,” Dave said. Darcy giggled.

“Does Rollins have an Instagram?” she asked. “I know your uncle--um.” Darcy stopped. Her face was doing a funny thing, Dave realized.

“You’ve been all over Brock’s terrible thirst trap Insta,” Dave said, rolling his eyes. She nodded, grinning. “He’s so vain,” Dave said.

“But he’s pretty!” Darcy insisted.

“He’s fifty,” Dave grumbled. “It’s embarrassing. Every day, a sweaty gym pic. He pretends he does it to encourage people to move? C’mon.”

“It’s not that embarrassing,” she said, sounding oddly sweet. Women did that. They went all sweet around his uncle. It was irritating, even if he understood it. He thought maybe Jack Rollins wore terrible turquoise rings, but somehow, they seemed less terrible on him.

“The duckface is embarrassing,” Dave said definitively. “He won’t listen when I say it’s not cool--”

“Well,” Darcy began.

“Oh God, don’t make me lose all respect for you,” Dave joked. “The shirt-free photos are one thing, but the duckface is an abomination.” He pointed a finger at her.

“Okay, okay,” Darcy said, covering her face. Dave looked at her carefully. Brock had called her a total babe. And Darcy was single. Single and fun. If she could put up with Foster’s all-night science benders, maybe she could put up with his family…?

“You really think he’s cute?” Dave said. 

“Yes?” Darcy said. “Why?”

“No reason,” Dave lied.

* * *

Dave found his uncle talking to another agent in SHIELD’s gym. He’d clearly been boxing--he was all sweaty and leaning against the edge of the ring. “Hey!” Brock said. “Look who’s here! You wanna go a few rounds? This is my nephew, Davey.”

“Hi,” Dave said, wincing as Brock threw a sweaty arm around him. 

“Hi, man,” the agent said, shaking his hand.

“I, uh, wanted to talk to you?” Dave said. He was nervous. 

“Sure, sure,” Brock said. After the other agent left, Dave looked at him. Brock was smiling. “You okay?” his uncle asked.

“Yeah,” Dave said, trying not to be distracted by a shirtless Jack Rollins across the gym.

“What is it?” Brock asked. 

“I want you to go out with Darcy,” Dave said. “Like a blind date?”

“What?” Brock said, looking stunned. “What the hell are you talking about? You want me to go out with your girlfri--”

“She’s just a friend,” Dave said. At his uncle’s perplexed expression, Dave lowered his voice. “I swear to God, she’s just a friend. I think you’d get along, okay? She thinks your dumbass duckface selfies are attractive,” he got out, shaking his head. “Which is just the saddest thing.” He realized Brock had lit up a little.

“I know what women like, I keep telling you,” Brock said. 

“Really not an issue for me,” Dave said. Brock frowned and turned, putting his hands on Dave’s shoulders.

“Why you putting yourself down like that, pal?” he said. “I don’t like it.” He cupped Dave’s face affectionately. “You’re a handsome guy, there’s plenty of women--”

“Brock,” Dave said, sighing.

“What?” His gaze was intense.

“I’m gay,” Dave said slowly. Then more hurriedly. “Don’t tell Mom, she doesn’t know--yet.”

“Oh.” Brock was blinking at him. His hands hadn’t moved from Dave’s face, but Dave couldn’t read his expression. A second later, Dave found himself pulled into a tight hug. One of Brock’s arms was around his body, the other cupping the back of his head. “Buddy, why didn’t you say something?” Brock said in his ear. “Your mom don’t know?”

“No,” Dave said quietly. “I knew you’d be fine, but Nonna and Mom?”

“Davey,” Brock said, pulling back to gaze at him tenderly. “They _love_ you.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dave said. “But will they love this?”

“They will,” Brock said, voice serious. “And if any of the cousins give you shit, I’ll straighten them out--”

“Even Great Uncle Jimmy?” Dave said.

“I’ll knock the old man on his ass,” Brock said. “I been wanting to for years. Let me at him.” He mimed punching with one fist. Dave grinned. Jimmy was the most loathed member of the family. “I fucking mean that,” Brock said. He held his arms out for another hug. “C’mere.”

“Oh God, you’re all sweaty,” Dave complained, as his uncle hugged him and noisily kissed his cheek. “Don’t embarrass me in front of all these people.”

“Yeah,” Brock said, laughing at him and squeezing. When he caught Dave’s worried glance at Rollins, his grin widened. “Jack?” he said, eyes lighting up wickedly. _“Jack?”_

“Shhhh,” Dave said, horrified. “Don’t you fucking dare--”

“No, no,” Brock said, gesturing. “He’s way too fucking old for you. What about that guy, what’s his name in Analytics? Kevin?” Dave frowned.

“I’m supposed to be setting you up with Darcy,” Dave said. “And Kevin is pretentious.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay,” Brock said. “So you’re setting me up with her, huh?”

“Yes,” Dave said, trying to get control of the conversation before his uncle started offering up more names. “Where’s your phone? I’m going to give you her number, set up something.”

“Okay, fine,” Brock said. He was grinning. “You make all the arrangements, Mr. Matchmaker.”

“You’re going to get along,” Dave said, then realized it sounded like an order when Brock laughed. 

“Sure we are,” Brock said. “You sounded just like Ma.” That was Dave’s Nonna. Dave realized his uncle was grinning. Weirdly grinning.

“What?” Dave said.

“I was a little envious of you, pal, when I thought you were dating her,” Brock said. Dave rolled his eyes.

“She knows, total babe, yadda, yadda,” Dave said.

“You told her?” Brock said. “Don’t give away my mojo--”

“Please,” Dave said. He and Brock went over to where his uncle had left his bag and phone on a bench. Dave was saving Darcy’s number when Brock spoke again. 

“How’s Kevin pretentious?” Brock asked.

“He talks about his dad’s yacht, total overcompensation,” Dave said. “Absolutely not my type.”

“Gotcha,” Brock said, nodding.

* * *

“Hi,” Darcy said, when Brock Rumlow arrived at the restaurant and made his way to her table.

“Hi,” he said. Rumlow was wearing a really nice suit. Also, he was beaming. That took her by surprise. He didn’t smile like that at work. “You look beautiful,” he told her. She hadn’t expected that, either.

“Thank you! You look very, um”--her brain had forgotten words, that was the only explanation for what happened next-- “uh, man beautiful?” Darcy said, then cringed. “Oh God.”

“Man beautiful?” Rumlow said, chuckling.

“Handsome!” Darcy corrected. “That’s the word I couldn’t remember.”

“That happen a lot?” he wondered aloud. “Or just around men who are man beautiful?” He sat down.

“Ugh,” Darcy said. “First, you find me drooling on your sofa, now I’m doing this.” 

“That’s nothing,” he said. “I’ve heard you drool over my Instagram, sweetheart.” Darcy made a little squeaking noise. She covered her face with her hands for a second, then peeked at him. 

“I’m gonna get Dave for that,” she vowed.

“Don’t blame Dave,” he said. “I took a guess.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Okay.” She frowned. “Did I just give myself away?”

“Possibly,” he said, still beaming. “I’m glad, though.”

“Yeah?” she said.

“I’ve got one question,” he said slowly, seeming to be careful of his words. Darcy nodded. He smirked. “You still got that red dress from your Instagram?”

“Oh my God, you’ve been lurking!” Darcy said. “That’s how you know my name!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *The "man beautiful" bit is actually from an episode of 2 Broke Girls.


	2. Blind Dates and Pirates

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“Davey!” his uncle yelled from the other room. “What you wearin’ on your date?” Dave sighed as he looked at his closet. His Uncle Brock was playing matchmaker. _Again._ This was Dave’s fifth date in two weeks. He’d already been out with a trainee agent, another intern, and a random college student Brock had stopped on a tour of SHIELD. He had no idea who the latest date was or whether he should go casual or wear a suit. Most of his--admittedly limited--wardrobe was dirty.

“Are you ignoring us?” Darcy said, pitching her voice so Dave could hear. 

“I’ll be right there!” he called back. Dave took several hangers out into the living room. He stopped on the threshold of his bedroom and huffed in irritation. The two of them were curled up on the couch, cuddling and kissing: Darcy was tucked under one of his uncle’s massive biceps, gazing at him raptly. She looked adorable in a pair of rubber ducky print pajamas. By contrast, Brock looked particularly guido in his black tank top and sweatpants. As he stood there, they did one of those obnoxiously cute nose kisses. Dave rolled his eyes. The couple was annoyingly happy, now that Dave had successfully set them up. Sure, it was great that Darcy’s presence meant that bagels and bags of movie theater popcorn had migrated into the apartment and it had been funny when Brock had aggressively and verbally outbid someone on ebay for a sold-out Hocus Pocus mug that Darcy had mentioned in passing, but _ugh._ He sighed again. It was all the setups, he thought, making him irritable. Small talk and trying to be charming. He wasn’t good at date conversation. He wandered down verbal cul de sacs of awkwardness and jokes that didn’t quite land. The trouble was, his uncle kept setting him up with men who were astonishingly handsome and unusually successful. Dave felt like a goofball and a schmuck faced with Riley the doctoral candidate who’d invented a portable water filtration system for isolated rural communities as a summer project and looked like an underwear model. 

“What is it?” Brock said, looking paradoxically happy and smug. He leaned towards Darcy as she shifted away, pouting his lips. There was the duckface again, Dave thought.

“You look like the Situation, I’m not taking clothing advice from you,” Dave muttered. Darcy snorted as she reached for her mug on the coffee table. It was shaped like a little cauldron. 

“Do you hear how rude he is?” Brock said. “Rude to his favorite uncle?” He dropped a kiss on Darcy’s ducky-clad shoulder.

“Mmm-hmm,” Darcy said neutrally. She grinned at Dave as she took a sip.

“You’re my only uncle. Two, it’s unnatural for you to be this happy. Adults aren’t that happy,” Dave groused. “No one in our family is like this.”

“You want me to be, uh, grouchy and better-dressed?” Brock asked, scratching his chin.

“He can’t be better dressed, I like his casual gym rat wardrobe,” Darcy said, patting Brock’s sweatpants-clad thigh. She gave him a gooey look.

“Yeah?” Brock said, beaming.

“It’s comfy, I like comfy,” Darcy said, rubbing Brock’s side. They were about to start snuggling each other, Dave guessed. 

“It sets the bar low for her,” Dave said. He’d stolen the joke from Darcy. Brock frowned.

“True,” Darcy admitted, nodding. “I’ve said it before. He's quoting me.” Brock went back to grinning again.

“You’re funny, sweetheart,” Brock said. "C'mere."

“Show us your outfits, Dave,” Darcy said, dodging a loud, smacking kiss from Brock that ended up landing near her ear.

“Blue shirt or suit?” Dave said, feeling grimly single. He held up each option under his chin.

"Do a little spin," Brock said.

"Ha ha," Dave said. Darcy was looking thoughtful. She tilted her head.

“I like the blue,” Darcy declared. "It has relaxed energy. You need to feel relaxed."

“Yeah,” Brock said, nodding along. "That's more casual."

"Okay," Dave said. "Blue." He turned--and then Brock spoke again.

"Hey," Brock said. "Don’t worry so much. You’ve got plenty of time to meet somebody.”

“Thanks,” Dave said. He could tell his uncle was trying to be reassuring. They were both smiling at him brightly. Like weirdly too-young parents seeing him off to prom. He paused. “Aren’t you cat-sitting for Maria and Sharon?”

“Yup,” Darcy said. “We’re about to head over.”

“In your pajamas?” Dave said.

“It’s not like the cats give a fuck,” Brock said. Darcy giggled.

“Cats give no fucks,” she said to him. Brock kissed her happily. Dave sighed and went back to get dressed. 

The three of them left at the same time. Dave went one way and Brock and Darcy went the other. “Good luck!” Darcy said, waving at him as he got in his car. She was wearing a winter coat over her pajamas and a pair of knockoff knit Uggs that made weird scuffing noises on the pavement. Dave waved back and grinned to himself. Before Dave pulled out of his parking spot, Brock had hoisted Darcy off her feet with a squeal. They were both laughing as Brock boosted her into his SUV and kissed her. He turned back to look at Dave. Brock never liked to be the last person to say goodbye. It was a weird quirk of his. Dave rolled down his car window slowly. It squeaked from the condensation.

“Bye, Davey!” Brock yelled, as Dave backed out of the space.

“We love you!” Darcy added. 

“You’re fucking awful!” Dave yelled. “Just sickening!”

“Just be yourself!” Brock shouted. “You’re great!” Dave rolled his eyes and drove past them with his foot on the brake, intentionally making a face. He was trying to keep the car under ten miles an hour.

“Whatever, go cat sit and make kissy faces at Sharon and Maria’s,” he said. He knew this date was going to be awful. It was probably a nuclear physicist who was pen pals with the Dalai Lama or a professional athlete who made prosthetics for adorable children. 

* * *

“Oh, no,” Darcy said, looking at Maria and Sharon’s dining table in alarm. There were little shreds of organic packaging paper all over the wood surface. It looked like a minor explosion.

“What is it?” Brock said. He had volunteered to do the litter box. She let him. 

“I left the cat treats on the table,” Darcy said sadly. “I was thinking of dogs. I wasn’t thinking of cats.” The seal on the package seemed to mock her. It remained in one big strip.

“Yeah?” he said, sticking his head out of the bathroom.

“Cats can get on the table,” Darcy said. “No more cat treats. They ate them.” 

“We’ll buy more,” he said. “Don’t worry about it.” Darcy looked at the Persian cat sitting grandly on the kitchen counter. 

“I think that was her plan all along,” Darcy said. Her name was Anne Bonny. “No wonder they named you for a pirate.”

“I wonder where the other one is?” Brock said. The second cat--allegedly a calico named Calico Jack--always hid from them.

“Under the bed?” Darcy said, getting a sparkly ball on a string to play with Anne. She liked to bat at things. As Brock scrubbed his hands and forearms in the sink, Darcy swished the toy back and forth. Anne seemed to study her, then reached out and very delicately batted at the tinsel. One tentative swing was followed by ten or twelve more furious thwacks. Darcy giggled.

“You like her?” Brock said.

“She has Jane energy,” Darcy said. “All pretty on the outside and internally scrappy and furious.”

“I think you’re prettier,” Brock said loyally. Darcy was about to say something when a small figure appeared on the threshold of one of the bedrooms.

“Babe, don’t move, but Calico Jack is in the doorway,” Darcy said, freezing. As they both stood stock-still, the cat wandered into the living room, appeared to look around, and then circled Darcy’s ankles. He meowed. His eyes looked especially wide and pleading.

“What’s wrong with him?” Brock said.

“He’s probably hungry,” she said.

“There’s food in the bowl,” he said. Darcy put down the cat toy and wandered into the kitchen, trailed by Calico Jack. There was food in the double bowl. But just on one side. She poured some in the empty side and Calico Jack immediately began eating. “Huh,” Brock said, looking at her like she was the cat whisperer.

“Cats are funny like that,” Darcy said.

“Maybe that’s her side,” Brock said, gesturing from the side that had had kibble in it to Anne Bonny. “So he doesn’t want to eat out of it?”

“A plausible hypothesis,” Darcy decided out loud.

* * *

Dave had been sitting at the table for fifteen minutes--he was clearly being stood up--when someone said his name. He looked up--and directly into a familiar set of eyes. “Jack?” he said. Were those piercing eyes green, Dave wondered? 

“Hey, mate,” Jack said, sitting down. “I have, uh, bad news. About your date.”

“My--my date?” Dave said. He was momentarily distracted by how well Rollins filled out a henley.

“Carson. Trainee agent,” Jack said. “Got called ‘way on a field exercise. Wasn’t planning on standing you up. No harm meant.”

“Oh,” Dave said. “Gotcha.”

“I’m sure he’ll reschedule, no worries,” Jack said. Dave nodded, too tongue-tied to think of something appropriate to say. Jack must’ve mistaken his silence for distress, because he went on. “Dating’s hard at your age. I remember,” he said. “But it’ll turn out all right.” It was strangely hilarious, Dave thought. Jack Rollins was trying to comfort him. The combination of nervousness and attraction and amusement hit him all at once.

“Yeah, right,” Dave said, blurting out a thought. “I’m sure you had real trouble with all your--your--”

“My what?” Jack said, looking startled.

“Tall,” Dave said, landing on the first word he could think of. “You’re tall. Everybody loves tall people. I know because nobody in my family’s tall,” he said. “None of us can reach the top shelf in the cabinet without a step stool.” Dave gestured, rambling. “Need a book from the top shelf of the library? Forget about it, you’ve got to get on one of those rolling round step things, which seem like total liabilities to me, they're like the Leaning Tower of Pisa--” 

“Everybody loves tall people?” Jack said, raising his eyebrows at Dave.

“Don’t look at me like I’m crazy, they’ve done studies,” Dave insisted. “Tall, good-lucking people make more money, everybody thinks they’re smarter and more valuable.” He gestured. “You know how it is,” Dave added. “I mean--”

“Let me get you a beer,” Jack said.

“Uhhhhh,” Dave said. “I’m only twenty.” Rollins grimaced. Obviously, he sounded like a total baby, Dave thought. “Won’t be twenty one for another four months.”

“I forget they don’t let people drink at a reasonable age in this bloody country,” Jack said, looking sheepish.

“Blame Mothers Against Drunk Driving,” Dave said, seized by the terrible urge to ramble again. To his surprise, Rollins actually looked interested. “It used to be eighteen in some states, but they did a whole campaign, raised the age. There are statistics,” Dave said, “that eighteen to twenty year olds are shitty people who’d drive drunk a lot, apparently. Who knew? Are you surprised? It was shocking to me.” He'd done air quotes around the word shocking. Rollins started to laugh. It was a high-pitched, unexpected giggle. “Oh my God,” Dave said slowly. “You laugh like Anderson Cooper.” Rollins made a hilariously chagrined face.

“It’s bloody embarrassing,” he muttered, actually blushing and cupping his face in his hands. A stray giggle snuck out.

“Oh my God,” Dave repeated. “Who are you? You laugh like you’re four years old. I’m gonna need something stronger.” He raised his hand as if to summon a waiter. “Can I get a ginger ale?” he joked. 

“I can’t let you have too much of that, Brock’ll kill me,” Jack said back, grinning. Dave snorted. “They driving you crazy with all the sex?” Jack asked.

“No,” Dave said, unable to keep the wistful note out of his voice. “It’s more the emotional intimacy and the, uh, general displays of affection. When I left, he and Darcy were going to feed Sharon and Maria’s cats,” Dave said. “They’re probably home now and doing something bizarre, like Brock watching an entire season of _Bridgerton_ and eating carbs without complaining or Darcy knitting him a skinny scarf and sneaking love notes into his protein bar box.”

“She puts ‘em in his locker, too,” Jack said. “Either Romanoff taught her to pick locks or she has a co-conspirator.” Jack was grinning widely.

“Absurd,” Dave said. “Completely ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. They lapsed into silence. Jack cupped his chin. He had a really hot scar there, Dave had noticed. Probably from something really impressive. “Wouldn’t mind somebody leaving love notes in my locker, though.” He looked sheepish. “Seems like it would be nice.”

“I’d volunteer, but you’re a little young for me,” Dave joked. “Even if you are tall.” It was easier to tease Rollins once you’d heard him laugh like a tiny, mischievous kindergartener. Dave shook his head when Jack giggled again.

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PeaceOutBrusselSprout wanted more Dave, so this happened! It's important you know that Dave is fairly Adam Brody-ish in my brain:


	3. Birthdays and Graphic Novels

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“I can’t believe you’re twenty one,” his uncle told Dave, clapping his shoulder. “I remember when you were two!”

“Oh good, I don’t remember that at all,” Dave said, sipping the drink Darcy had suggested. They were at a restaurant and bar popular with SHIELD employees. His drink tasted like apples. He was sipping it slowly. Darcy—currently in the ladies room—had warned him girly drinks packed a punch, stereotypes non-withstanding. He took Darcy’s advice. He’d finally declared his majors--political science and a minor in computer science. They were prepping him to apply for jobs at State after graduation. Or grad school.

“I can’t believe it,” Brock repeated. “And you don’t wanna go out with your friends, get wasted?” 

“Nope,” Dave said. Some of his friends and the other interns had offered, but the idea didn’t appeal to him. “I don’t like vomiting or forgetting where I’ve been.”

“When I was your age, that was all I did,” Brock said, as Darcy returned. “Hey, baby.” He beamed at her.

“I know. Mom still remembers going to the hospital when you had your stomach pumped,” Dave said.

“What did I miss?” Darcy asked.

“His alcoholism,” Dave cracked. “Mom was ten.”

“Ohhh,” Darcy said. 

“Thank fuck for that. I’m a new man now,” Brock said, raising his beer. “I don’t live that way—”

“Uh-huh,” Darcy said skeptically. Dave smirked around his apple martini and looked at Brock. His uncle was frowning. But not at their jokes. His sight line was to Jack Rollins, sitting alone at the bar.

“I’m gonna go check on him,” Brock said abruptly. He stood up.

“Okay,” Dave said, as he left their table. Darcy wiggled her eyebrows. “What?” he asked.

“You’re twenty one now, flirt a little!” she said. He snorted. Dave had told her about their little evening together. Maybe with too much pining.

"I'm not doing that," Dave said.

“Okay, fine,” Darcy sassed. “Chicken.”

“Shut up,” Dave muttered as the two men walked over. Jack looked tired. Not that Dave checked him out a lot.

“Congrats, mate,” Jack said, shaking Dave’s hand and smiling briefly. “It’s a milestone.”

“Yeah. Thanks,” Dave said.

“He didn’t want to go out and get drunk, I’m worried we aren’t related,” Brock said. Jack giggled. “What the fuck is that?” Brock said, looking stunned.

“Uh, nothing,” Jack said, sharing a moment of eye contact with Dave. He felt himself blush and sipped his drink again. Dave was trying not to stare at Jack when Maria Hill stopped to congratulate him and Darcy asked about her cats. 

“The girls are great,” Maria said.

“Girls?” Darcy said.

“Something happened to Jack?” Brock said. “He didn’t go missing or something?”

“Jack’s a girl,” Maria said. “Calicoes are mostly female.”

“Ohhhh,” Darcy said. “Calico Jacqueline?” 

“That’s funny,” Brock said. Dave let his glance turn to Jack. The Australian smiled. Dave smiled back.

“How are you?” Jack asked Dave. 

“Old,” Dave cracked. “You?”

“Miserable,” Jack said. But he didn’t elaborate. No one had noticed. The other three were talking. It felt like he and Jack were in a bubble.

“Apple martini?” Dave offered. He was maybe tipsy, because he held his own drink out.

“Sure,” Jack said, grinning and taking the glass from him. Dave watched, feeling oddly voyeuristic, as the Australian put it against his lips in the exact spot where he had been drinking. The slight smear of Dave’s chapstick was visible in the sugared rim. “Not bad,” Jack muttered. 

“Yeah,” Dave said. 

“A little sweet, maybe, not what I’d usually go for, but I’d take it,” Jack said.

“Are we still talking about the martini?” Dave joked. Jack looked at him.

“Huh?” the Australian said. He hadn’t understood—or was rejecting—the bit of flirty banter. Whoops. Dave wanted to cringe.

“Sorry, joke,” Dave said. Jack nodded. Dave repressed a sigh. Across the table, Maria was deadpanning Brock. 

“There are no male animals in my house, unless Barton is drooling on the sofa,” she was saying. Darcy was laughing.

“Whatever,” Brock said, gesturing airily. “Male, female. She’s my boy. We bonded. We’re like this.” He held up two entwined fingers.

“He fed Calico Jack all the cat treats,” Darcy said to Maria.

“This is the cat,” Dave said awkwardly to Jack. “Not you.”

“Yeah,” Jack said. He sighed. He really did look miserable. 

“Did you want to have dinner with us?” Dave offered, as Maria said goodbye and went back to her table. 

“I wouldn’t want to crash your party, mate,” Jack said.

“It’s just a family dinner, really,” Dave said. “You wouldn’t be crashing. My actual birthday was Wednesday.”

“Oh,” Jack said. “You didn’t do a pub crawl or anything?” Brock must’ve overheard, because he said Jack’s name.

“I told you, Jackie, we’re not sure he’s related to me,” Brock said. “This is his first legal drink!”

“He’s just a responsible adult already,” Darcy said. “I’m still learning.”

“Me, too,” Brock said. “Tell him what your mom says about the stomach pump.”

“Okay,” Dave said. He set his drink down. This was a story. “Apparently, when Mom was, oh, nine or ten, she remembers when my nonna--”

“That’s my Ma, you met her,” Brock interjected.

“I’m telling this story,” Dave said, sighing. 

“Shhhh, babe,” Darcy said to Brock. 

“Okay, okay,” Brock said. He gestured. “You go on, Davey.”

“So, Mom gets woken up, and gets carried to the hospital in her bunny slippers--” Dave began. He’d finished the story and Jack was laughing when a waiter circled by to ask if they wanted food.

It was a fun dinner, Dave thought. Jack had told him and Darcy some embarrassing work stories about Brock that he was going to tell his Mom. But he thought Jack seemed slightly unhappy. 

On the way home, Dave felt emboldened enough to ask. “Why’s Jack miserable?” he said from the backseat, readjusting the party hat that Darcy had put on his head after they left dinner. Brock glanced back from the driver’s seat. 

“Huh?” Brock asked.

“Jack, you said he was miserable,” Dave said.

“Oh, shit, yeah. His long distance boyfriend just dumped him,” Brock said. “But he’ll be okay. He never stays single long.”

“Oh,” Dave said. Darcy glanced back at him with a little grin and he made a face.

* * *

Dave was browsing the shelves of his favorite DC bookstore, looking at graphic novels. He’d picked up copies of Greg Rucka and Steve Lieber’s _Whiteout, Vol. 2: Melt_ and Emil Ferris’s _My Favorite Thing is Monsters_ when a familiar figure rounded the corner. “Jack?” Dave said, startled.

“Hey,” Jack said. The Australian looked odd. Almost sheepish again. That was when Dave’s gazed dropped to the items tucked against Jack’s forearm. His muscly forearm.

“Sudoku?” Dave said.

“Yeah,” Jack said. He touched that scar on his jaw. “I do ‘em when I travel. Takes the mind off things. Stop by once a week, usually. Pick up a few of ‘em and some crosswords, things like that.”

“Neat,” Dave said, then immediately felt stupid. He sounded like a kid. Why hadn’t he said _neat-o,_ just to make it as bad as possible. “I mean, that’s great. Keeps you sharp or whatever,” he added. “Good for the mind.”

“Because I’m so bloody old?” Jack said, tilting his head. His expression was wry. 

“No, no,” Dave said, desperately, gesturing with the books in his hand. That led to an awkward juggle of his graphic novels. He dropped one. “Shit!” he said. Jack reached down and picked up it, grinning. “Now I’ve thrown a book at you,” Dave said grimly.

“No worries. _Whiteout?”_ Jack said. He looked at the book. “I ought to read more,” he said. “But it’s difficult for me to get into novels, you know?” He turned the book over in his hands. He had gorgeous hands, Dave thought, looking at the silver rings on the STRIKE agent’s fingers. The thought made him feel a little warm. When he was nervous, Dave babbled.

“It’s, uh, a famous graphic novel series. By Greg Rucka? He’s the guy who also wrote _The Old Guard,_ you know, the Netflix--”

“I love that bloody movie,” Jack said, face lighting up. His grin was oddly feral. 

“Yeah,” Dave said, flummoxed.

“What’s this one about?” Jack asked.

“Um. A female US marshall investigates murders in Antarctica,” Dave explained. He swiveled his head, looking for the first volume. “There are some beautiful panels about how dangerous it is in the snow. Really, really great stuff. Very thrilling, uh, you know--mysteries. Mysteries! That’s the word I was thinking of.” He laughed nervously. “The first one’s a classic. If you wanted to read more, it might be a good one to start with. Super, super easy to get into. Like a movie. They actually made a movie.”

“Really?” Jack said, as Dave found the book.

“Ah ha!” Dave said, “here you are, you little bastard.” He plucked the novel off the shelf. That made Jack laugh one of his high-pitched giggles. Dave passed him _Vol. 1,_ hoping his hand wasn’t sweaty.

“Thanks, mate,” Jack said, smiling at him. God, why couldn’t he be older and cooler, Dave wondered, desperately wanting to be cool and thirty-two. And possibly have some ab definition. That would be great. There was a pause. “So, there’s a movie?” Jack said.

“Yeah, yeah. With, um, Kate Beckinsale? I’ve never seen it, I’ve just read about it on IMDB,” Dave rambled. “It’s supposed to be bad, like really terrible. Under 10% on Rotten Tomatoes and everything. Which isn’t totally surprising, I mean, you don’t look at Kate Beckinsale and think, _‘hey, everybody, here’s our US Marshal_ ,’ you know? But they were originally going to cast Reese Witherspoon, so, uh”--he looked at Jack-- “maybe you do? I was going to watch it sometime, make fun of it or whatever?” he said.

“Yeah,” Jack said, nodding. “Sounds like fun. I just finished putting in a home theater system, got my speakers all sorted.”

“Oh, cool,” Dave said. “That’s probably great. A home theater. Just really big subwoofer, you turn on the TV, it’s like wall of sound that throws you back in your seat?” Dave babbled nervously. _Subwoofer?_ I’m such a fucking idiot, he thought. _What am I talking about?_

“I, uh, don’t actually know,” Jack said, looking sheepish. “I bought a set. Nothing techie. Just thought it might be nice to have.”

“Yeah,” Dave said, nodding. “Nice.”

“So, this movie’s called--?” Jack said.

 _“Whiteout,”_ Dave said. Jack probably wanted to watch it, Dave thought.

“Yeah. Too right,” Jack said. He looked at the novel. “Of course.” There was a pause. “You busy on Thursday?”

“Thursday?” Dave repeated. 

“Day after tomorrow?” Jack added. Thursday was the day tomorrow, Dave remembered.

“Uhhhh, no. I’m not busy.” He literally couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be doing. “I’m usually free most nights. No social life whatsoever,” he joked. 

“I should be in town,” Jack said. “If you want to watch this movie around eight?”

“Meeeee?” Dave said. It sort of tumbled out of his mouth. “You want to watch it with me?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I?”

“Oh, yeah,” Dave said. “Sure, yeah.” He could hear his heartbeat thudding in his ears. He was going to pass out, right here in the aisle, crack his head on the shelf next to _Persepolis,_ and probably die. Become an urban legened. Not gay panic, just a panicked gay.

“Unless you don’t want to--” Jack began.

“No!” Dave said, too loudly. “I mean, I do. It’ll be fun. You’ve got a home theater, Kate Beckinsdale will be there, probably in a big puffy coat, and I’ll just show up at eight with, uh, popcorn and we can heckle?” His voice had gone up slightly, all weedy, because he’d run out of oxygen--totally forgotten to breathe under the impact of Jack’s gaze. He sucked in air.

“Heckle,” Jack said, looking perplexed.

“Do they not say heckle in Australia?” Dave said, after he’d exhaled. He felt like his chest was going in and out. Like he’d run a marathon. Or maybe a really fast 10K. “It means, like, uh, razz?” he added wildly. He couldn’t think of synonyms. His brain was broken. He was going to be alone with Jack Rollins?

“Yeah,” Jack said. “We say heckle.”

“Oh,” Dave said. “I thought maybe you didn’t have that.”

“There’s lots of words that are different,” Jack said, nodding. “You, uh, ready to go?”

“Um,” Dave said intelligently. “Yes. Yes, I am.” They walked up to the register at the front of the store together. Dave didn’t know what to say, but a shelf full of travel books caught his eyes. “So, you must like traveling?” he said. “You and Brock go everywhere--” 

“Yeah,” Jack said. He frowned slightly. “It’s fun at first, but you get real used to it. That’s why the crosswords help. They make me feel productive. I can’t quit ‘em now, I get real fidgety..”

“You didn’t know you were addicted, but the clues were all there?” Dave joked. Jack burst out laughing. The sales associate next to the cash register looked up in surprise.

  
  


* * *

When he unlocked the front door of Brock’s apartment, Dave could hear music from the kitchen. Darcy was playing Postmodern Jukebox. A cover of a Taylor Swift song. She turned and lowered the music when he walked in. “Hey, Davey. I’m surprising Brock with a Pumpkin Spice Latte tiramisu,” she said, gesturing to a glass pan on the counter. It was partially filled with ladyfingers. “Did you want to lick the bowl?” she said. He couldn’t respond. He shook his head, opened his mouth and closed it again silently. “What’s wrong?” Darcy asked.

“I--I saw Jack Rollins at the bookstore,” he said. “I’m freaking out. You can’t tell Brock.”

“Okay,” Darcy said, tilting her chin down. Her eyebrows went up over her glasses. There was a smudge of mascarpone on the edge of one lens. Normally, it would’ve been funny, but Dave’s lungs weren’t working properly. He’d been climbing into his mom’s old Camry station wagon outside the bookstore when he’d realized Jack was getting on a motorcycle in the adjoining space and forgotten how to breathe again. 

“Jack asked me to, uh, watch a movie with him,” Dave got out. “I’m sure I’m gonna have a fucking heart attack. Oh my God. Oh my God.”

“Ohhhhhhhh,” Darcy said, beaming. “Jack asked you to a movie?”

“Yes,” Dave said. I certainly didn’t ask him!” He put his elbows on a clear bit of countertop and then his entire face. “I can’t do this, Darce. He’s too...too tall.” He closed his eyes. He would just rest here. Maybe forever. Just melt into the counter, disappear. That was theoretically possible. Maybe SHIELD had a machine...Darcy would know.

“Okay,” Darcy said. “I could see that. Personally, tall people annoy me, being all smug and reaching things--”

“He’s--it’s not--there’s so much of him. And it’s all Australian! It’s unbearable, I can’t talk,” Dave moaned. “He has a motorcycle!”

“Oh, yeah, I forgot,” she said. “I think he restores them?”

“Great. Wonderful. Exciting.” The laminate felt cool against his forehead. “He’s the Australian Keanu Reeves and I turn into a babbling idiot who drops things.”

“He is kind of Keanu-y. I’m sure it wasn’t that bad,” Darcy said mildly.

“Please don’t patronize me, I nearly hit him with a fucking graphic novel,” Dave griped.

“And then he asked you to a movie?” Darcy said, still in that reasonable tone.

“It’s an adaptation of the graphic novel,” Dave said slowly. “Set in Antarctica. With Kate Beckinsdale. It has seven percent on Rotten Tomatoes.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “So, it’s bad.”

“It’s supposed to be _terrible,_ ” he said.

“Oh,” she repeated.

“I rambled,” Dave confessed. “I don’t know what happened, I was just talking about hate-watching it and--” Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Brock coming home. Dave lifted his head in horror.

“Honey,” his uncle yelled, “I’m home!” Brock thought it was a funny joke. Dave looked at Darcy.

“Oh God,” Dave said. “He’s gonna lose it.”

“I won’t tell him,” Darcy whispered. Dave nodded as Brock walked in with flowers and big grin. 

“I bought you roses, baby,” he announced grandly, setting the cellophane-wrapped bouquet at Dave’s elbow and pulling Darcy in for a big, smacking kiss. He’d kissed her noisily when he looked at Dave. “What’s wrong, Davey?” he asked.

“He, uh, spent too much money at the bookstore,” Darcy said.

“Yeah,” Dave said, nodding.

“Sticker shock,” Darcy added. “You know how it is.”

“Books are expensive,” Brock agreed, “but they’re good for you. Don’t worry about it. I’ll buy you one of those memberships, get you a discount card.”

“Thanks?” Dave said weakly.

“Your mom’s real proud of how smart and mature you are,” Brock said. He looked at Darcy. “He don’t get it from me,” he said, laughing. “I was such a fucking dumbass at his age, lemme tell you.”

“Noooo,” Darcy said sweetly, “not possible.” She said something else, but Dave didn’t hear it. It had just dawned on him that Jack Rollins and his thirty-eight year old mother were close to the same age. Possibly were the same age. If--if anything happened at all between him and Jack, his mother might go crazy. Scene-making Italian mother crazy. 

“Dave?” Brock said. “You okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dave lied. He was going to pass out.

“You look pale,” Brock said, clearly worried.

“Why don’t you have a snack, sit down?” Darcy said, clearly trying to help him.

“Good idea,” Brock said, letting go of Darcy to steer Dave towards the dining table by his shoulders. “We’ll fix you up,” Brock said, patting him with paternal care.

“Thanks,” Dave said, cotton-mouthed.

  
  


* * *

“Where you going?” Brock asked, when Dave came out of his bedroom on Thursday. He hadn’t run into Jack at SHIELD, but he had done his laundry and changed three times tonight. Finally settled on a favorite plaid shirt and jeans. Casual. This was casual, right? Darcy and Brock were eating popcorn on the couch. Even that made him think of Jack now. Jack had texted him to confirm and say he would make popcorn, too. _No worries,_ he’d said. _Just show up._ Dave didn’t even know how he’d gotten his phone number. Had he asked Brock? Clearly not.

“I, uh,” Dave said, pausing. What should he say?

“He’s seeing a movie with a friend,” Darcy supplied.

“Yeah, that,” Dave said. “Movie. Friend.” 

“Oh, yeah?” Brock said, beaming. “Boy friend?” He’d said it teasingly. Dave felt himself blush. “Holy shit,” Brock said. “You like this guy!”

“Maybe,” Dave admitted, feeling like the words were stuck somehow. 

“Don’t give him a hard time,” Darcy said, elbowing Brock. 

“Is this guy gonna--?” Brock asked.

“Oh my God, what is wrong with you?” Dave said. His uncle laughed.

“He gets so embarrassed,” Brock said. Dave rolled his eyes--and they strayed to the television. 

“What is that?” Dave asked, eager for a topic change. There were hippos on the TV screen. Running down what looked like a city street.

“This thing about hippos in Columbia,” Darcy said. “It’s fantastic. Pablo Escobar imported them and now they’re just running around, like you do.” She gestured. Brock laughed and kissed her cheek.

“I got no idea where she finds this stuff, but I fucking love it,” his uncle said happily. He tossed some popcorn into his mouth, clearly in a one of his expansive, affectionate moods. He was always chatty then, too.

“Excuse me, this is the Smithsonian Channel,” Darcy said, pretending to be offended. “It’s very classy and refined.” She looked at Dave. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Dave said. “I’m going, I’m going.”

“You need condoms?” Brock called as Dave stepped away.

“Brock!” Darcy said.

“I’m just saying, if he likes this guy, things happen, you know? They’re sitting alone in the dark, it feels intimate, there are cars when you leave the theater--” Brock mused.

“It’s at his house,” Dave said, then immediately regretted it. Brock looked at him gleefully, eyes lighting up.

“Oh ho, ho, ho,” Brock said. “He invited you to his place?”

“Jesus,” Dave said. “All right. Yes, he did. You know what? Yes. Give me like a whole box of them.” He didn’t know where the bravado came from and swayed a little as Brock grinned at him.

“All right,” Brock said. He looked at Darcy. “I want you to know, this means less sex for you, sweetheart.” He stood up and went into his bedroom, returning with a strip of condoms. “Five enough?” he joked.

“For one night, maybe,” Dave said. But he did tuck two of them into a pocket. Sitting on the couch, his uncle grinned. 

“You be safe,” Brock said, arm around Darcy. “We want you to be safe and happy.”

“Yes,” Darcy said, giving him a more sympathetic look. Dave nodded, taking a deep breath.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *So, I found a photo of Callan Mulvey making this face and wearing jewelry and it was so cute it immediately became my headcanon image of him for this story.


	4. Coming Out Cakes and Thylacines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

Dave paused in front of Jack Rollins’ front door. “I should knock,” he muttered to himself. He rapped quietly, then nervously shifted his weight. The door swung open. “Hi,” Dave said, as Jack smiled at him.

“Hey,” Jack said. “Come in, ma--Dave.” He cleared his throat and stepped aside. Dave moved into the apartment.

“Oh wow,” Dave said involuntarily. The inside of Jack’s apartment was surprising. Everything was dark, but in a nice way. Deep blue-green wallpaper with some sort of tropical leaf pattern; mahogany stained beams on the ceiling, an unusual wood dining table with a green pattern that looked like poured water embedded in the wood. Jack gave him a surprised look. Dave started to babble again. “This is, uh, really beautiful...decorating?” he said. He felt embarrassed. What kind of impression was he making? “You’ve got, uh, nice wood--wood furniture.” He was a complete idiot, Dave thought. _Wood? Why had he said wood?_

“Thanks,” Jack said, actually blushing. “I, uh, made that table. Live edge wood and resin,” he said. “Took me weeks to find the tree slabs. They’re acacia.”

“Oh,” Dave said, pretending to know what the hell that was.

“Epoxy’s a challenge, too,” Jack said. “Kept getting bubbles.”

“Bubbles in the resin?” Dave said, walking over to the table. He could show an interest. People liked that, right?

“Yeah,” Jack said.

“It’s beautiful,” Dave said. “Can I touch it?” The resin almost glowed against the wood.

“Of course,” Jack said. “You can, uh, make it lots of colors. There was a fella who did a bunch of pencils in a pour down the side, real creative stuff,” he added. “Looked like they were falling on the floor.”

“Pencils?” Dave said. 

“Colored pencils,” Jack said. 

“I’ll have to look that up,” Dave said, hand still on the table.

“I can show you,” Jack said, reaching for his phone. “Lemme look. Epoxy’s an interesting material.”

“Yeah,” Dave said. “Tell me about the epoxy, Jack?” Too late, he realized he sounded like Kate Winslet in _Titanic_ and winced slightly. But Jack seemed not to notice. They sat at the table and Dave was treated to a hilarious and vivid description of the challenges of tracking down live edge wood without beetles and pouring resin. He had no idea there were that many Australian swear words. He had to interrupt for clarification. “What’s a bogan?” he asked.

“Uh”---Jack snapped his fingers--”what’s the bloody word? Redneck! Redneck.”

“Okay,” Dave said.

“So, this fucking bogan tells me it’s oak, but I know it’s not oak,” Jack said. Dave nodded. “He thinks I’m too dumb to tell oak from cheap pine.” He shook his head.

“Pine’s just not...oaky,” Dave said.

“Too right,” Jack said. He frowned suddenly. Dave thought he might ask a terrifying woodworking question and tried not to blanch. “Bloody hell, I’m being rude. You’ve been here twenty minutes and I haven’t offered you anything to drink.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Dave said. 

“No, no,” Jack said. “My Mum would be appalled. What would you like? Beer?” He stood up.

“Um, no. Trying not to drink and drive,” Dave said, nervously. 

“That’s smart,” Jack said, moving into the kitchen. 

“Also, helps me keep my rep. Most Boring Guy in Italian Family. I’m planning on getting a mug, once I do my taxes. Early,” Dave rambled. “Three-point eight average, clean driving record, regular haircuts, the works.” From the kitchen, Jack laughed, then emerged with an actual tray of sodas and fancy waters. Dave stared. 

“You’ve got a good head on your shoulders,” Jack said, evidently sincerely. “I wish--when I was your age, I was a complete bloody mess.”

“Yeah?” Dave said. He picked a lemon-flavored soda. “Thank you.”

“I wasn’t out to my parents yet,” Jack said. “Couldn’t work up the nerve to tell ‘em. You’re braver than I was, Brock told me.” His voice was so wistful, Dave felt sympathy.

“Yeah, but it’s easier now,” he said. He’d come out to his mother and Nonna Angela on Zoom several weeks ago. Darcy had helped him plan it, so he wouldn’t be nervous. “I mean, my mom is just upset that she missed the Pride parade.”

“Really?” Jack said.

“She’s making her signs already,” Dave said. He got out his phone. “It says _I love my gay son_ in purple glitter.” Jack grinned. “And Darcy made me a coming out cake,” Dave said, swiping. “It’s so much easier now. We have rights, we can get married. I mean, not us,” he stammered. “You know, I just mean--”

“Yeah,” Jack said, smiling. “Appreciate you trying to make me feel better.”

“Darcy would probably make you a cake, if you wanted one?” Dave joked. “And my mom would add you to her signs-- _I love my brother’s gay best friend?”_ he offered.

“You’ve got a good family,” Jack told him. There was a pause. 

“I like ‘em okay,” Dave said. Jack grinned. Dave could feel himself blushing in response. Jack tapped his fingers on the table. “This is a great table,” Dave repeated. Jack’s grin grew wider.

“Let’s watch this bad movie, yeah?” Jack said. “I’ll make the popcorn.”

“I’m warning you, it’s going to be terrible,” Dave said, as Jack stood up and went into the kitchen. He felt fine. Totally comfortable. So what if his heart rate went up a little when Jack sat next to him on the sofa? Dave tried not to look at him too much. 

Instead, he heckled the movie. “I know when there’s a serial killer on the loose, this is exactly the kind of thing I’d do, take an artistically steamy shower that juuuuust reveals what a total babe I am,” Dave joked, as Kate Beckinsale was framed in steam and water. Jack started giggling. 

“Yeah,” he said.

“And that’s what the base showers look like in Antarctica, I’m sure, like they were ordered from Design Within Reach,” Dave said. “You have any input? What do SHIELD showers look like, anyway?”

“Exactly like that,” Jack said, still giggling. “I could”--he snorted--”sneak you in, if you want?” Dave almost choked on his popcorn.

“Oh, yeah,” he said, coughing. “Sure. Let’s sneak me in.” Was Jack purposefully saying suggestive things, Dave wondered, or was his mind in the gutter?

“Bloody hell,” Jack said. Dave realized he was watching the screen, not him. He looked astounded.

“This isn’t just a murder, Jack,” Dave said, echoing the actor onscreen, “this is the first murder in _Antarctica!”_

“No, it can’t be,” Jack said. “Not in this neighborhood!”

“Think of the Antarctic property values,” Dave said.

“Resale’ll plummet,” Jack said. They grinned at each other. Everything was going so well, Dave thought, glancing over as the movie went on. For sure, Jack would make a move before he left. Dave shifted slightly closer to the STRIKE agent. 

“More popcorn?” he offered.

“Thanks, love,” Jack said.

“Ohhh, you just got more Australian,” Dave said. 

“I go in and out,” Jack said.

“I could say so many things about that,” Dave said. “But my mama raised me right.” Jack started to giggle again. 

“So,” Jack said, when the movie ended. “That was bloody awful.” He put down his remote and looked at Dave. Dave felt a rush of adrenaline.

“You can’t say you weren’t warned,” Dave said. Jack grinned.

“You did try to warn me,” he said.

“I very properly labeled this as a terrible film,” Dave said. “The novel’s great, though. Totally worth it.”

“I haven’t read it yet,” Jack said, looking uncomfortable. “Sorry.”

“Well, you’re totally gonna flunk my pop quiz,” Dave said. “End up in my remedial movies class.” 

“I wouldn’t mind,” Jack said. 

“You say that now, but Week Four is _Brigadoon_ , and we have student retention issues in Week Five. I’m pretty sure they’re unrelated,” Dave quipped. Jack giggled. “I’m never gonna get over that,” Dave told him. “Your laugh is remarkable. As remarkable as Gene Kelly and a mysterious Scottish village that appears and disappears---” Dave was saying, when Jack hugged him abruptly. It was a tight, rib-crushing squeeze. “Oh,” Dave said. “Okay. Let’s hug it out. Gene would dance it out--”

“Thanks for tonight,” Jack said, pulling back and looking at him with a totally unreadable look. He moved back, looking odd. He dropped his gaze somewhere in the vicinity of Dave’s knees.

“Oh,” Dave said. He wants me to leave, Dave thought. “Yeah. You’re welcome.”

“I really appreciate it,” Jack said, glancing at him. “The movie, spending time with me--”

“I’m sure lots of people like spending time with you,” Dave said. Jack shook his head. He was looking away again. The chuckle that escaped his lips was dry and totally unlike his usual giggle.

“You’d be bloody surprised,” Jack said.

“Hey,” Dave said. “If you want to be my best student, you’re gonna have to stick around to Week Six and really ace the midterm.” He cleared his throat. “But I should probably go.” Jack wasn’t looking at him directly anymore. He stood up awkwardly--and Jack jumped to his feet. “Whoa, that was quick,” Dave said. “Fast reflexes.”

“I’ll, uh, walk you out,” Jack said.

* * *

Darcy was cuddling her boyfriend on the couch when Brock’s phone rang. “It’s Rollins,” he said.

“What?” Darcy said, sitting up in alarm.

“Hey,” Brock said at the same time. He looked confused by her reaction. “What?” he mouthed, but then his face fell. “What do you mean, did Dave get home okay?” he asked. Darcy froze. _Oh, shit,_ she thought. “He was--you’re his date?” Brock said. He looked at Darcy, then tilted the phone. “Did you know he was seeing a movie with Rollins?” he asked, expression guarded.

“Ummmm,” Darcy said. “Yes?” She nodded carefully.

“When did he leave?” Brock said, putting the phone back on his ear. “Thirty minutes ago?”

“He should be home by now,” Darcy said. “Did it go badly?”

“Did it go--did you fucking upset him or try any shit?” Brock said, starting to repeat her words and then abandoning them for a more aggressive version. He frowned. “He’s fucking twenty-one Rollins, what were you thinking?” he asked bluntly. Brock flared his nostrils. “You expect me to believe you didn’t even kiss him? Bullshit,” Brock said.

“Oh, no,” Darcy whispered. 

“What?” Brock said. She realized he was asking her.

“Dave will be so disappointed,” Darcy said. “That Jack didn’t make a move.”

“What?” Brock said, sounding shocked.

“He has a crush!” Darcy whispered. “He wanted moves!”

“I’ll call you back,” Brock said grimly into the phone. “We can find him.” He hung up and looked at Darcy. “You knew?” he said, setting his phone down.

“Dave was really happy,” Darcy said gently. “He asked me not to tell you.”

“Rollins is too old for him,” Brock said. He swung his head back and forth. It was very Italianate of him, Darcy thought, to be so paternal and overprotective. He raked his hands through his hair. “How the fuck?” he said. 

“Dave thought you’d be upset,” Darcy said. 

“Dave’s still in college, he’s a goddamn baby,” Brock said. He stood up, pacing a little. “Nobody that young should have a thirty-six year old boyfriend, you know?” he said, gesturing. 

“We’ve got an age gap,” Darcy reminded him.

“You’re thirty-three, that’s different,” Brock said. 

“How?” Darcy said.

“You’ve lived a little,” Brock insisted. “I couldn’t change you--that’s the thing when you’re young, people can change you. The--whaddya you fucking call it when abusers do the thing? Mess with your head?” He walked in circles around the room.

“Grooming?” Darcy offered.

“Yeah,” he said, pointing. “That! That fucking thing.”

“You think Jack would do that?” Darcy said. “You love Jack. He’s your brother from another mother.” Brock scoffed, then sat down next to her with a sigh.

“You know Dave’s dad’s not in the picture, it’s my job to keep him from being hurt--I didn’t fucking think this was a possibilty,” he said. “He’s not even Jack’s type.”

“What’s Jack’s type?” Darcy said, genuinely curious.

“Old fucking guys who are fancy,” Brock said. “I mean _old,_ babe. He’s usually the young, hot one in the relationship. The last guy was named Eduardo, worked for the Spanish goddamned embassy.”

“Oh,” Darcy said. “Really?” Brock shook his head. “Eduardo,” she repeated. 

“The man looked like Michael fucking Douglas--don’t laugh,” Brock said. “Jack was real broken up when he got moved back to Europe, I thought he was going to ask for SHIELD to transfer him,” Brock said. “And they tried to do long-distance, but Eduardo dumped him. I mean, the guys Jack dates, they aren’t Dave.” He rubbed his jaw. “A bunch of foie gras guys who go to the damn opera. What’s he want with my nephew? I’ve never seen him with a guy who wasn’t sixty!”

“Maybe he likes Dave?” Darcy said. “ _We_ like Dave,” she reminded him. “The other day you said he was smart and mature. And he’s used to hanging out with adults, you’ve said so.” Fallon had raised him as a single mom. Darcy had the impression that Dave--an only child--had spent more time with his mother’s friends and family than other children growing up. Brock snorted. He stood up again, then looked at her.

“I’m not letting Rollins break Dave’s heart,” Brock said, “just because he’s lonely or some shit. Let’s go find Dave, figure out what Jack did.”

“Okay,” she said.

Darcy imagined that she’d be driving around with Brock, yelling “Dave!” out of a car window like he was a missing cat, but Dave’s Camry was parked in front of the building, music faintly audible as they got closer. “Dave?” Brock said, hurrying to the car window. It rolled down slowly. Dave was leaning his forehead against the steering wheel. The NPR station, Darcy realized. He had to be depressed, if he’d just left on the nighttime jazz.

“Hi,” he said, without looking up.

“What’s going on?” Brock said.

“I’m having a moment alone,” Dave said. “My date ended badly.”

“I know, Rollins called me,” Brock said.

“Oh, no,” Dave said. “He called you?” His forehead was going to have dents in the shape of the wheel, Darcy thought.

“He was looking for you. He said he didn’t try nothing,” Brock said, voice hot.

“Nope,” Dave said, face still against the wheel.

“What?” Brock said.

“He gave me a hug,” Dave said sadly.

“Awww,” Darcy said.

“I wanted him to kiss me,” Dave said. “I thought he was going to, but”--he blew a raspberry-- “zilch. Zero. Nada.”

“He didn’t do anything?” Brock said, accent less Bronx when he was calmer.

“No. Obviously, he doesn’t think I’m cute or I talked too much,” Dave said slowly. “I should have been quiet and mysterious. I got overconfident because things went well with the epoxy.”

“The what?” Brock said.

“We talked about his dining room table, the one he made,” Dave said. “And the movie. I had a moment of game. But it was fleeting.” 

“Oh,” Brock said. “He loves that fucking table.”

“I know,” Dave said mournfully. “It felt like we were having a table moment.”

“He led you on and he snubbed you?” Brock said, sounding faintly more Bronx again. 

“Let me see your phone?” Darcy said. Dave passed it without lifting his head. 

“Maybe I need abs?” Dave mused. “Is it my abs? Or is it a more general personality issue? Did I make fun of Kate Beckinsale too much? It was probably _Brigadoon._ ”

"What?" Brock said.

"Old musical, Gene Kelly," Darcy supplied.

"You talked about musicals?" Brock said.

"Yep. That was it. I failed," Dave said. "I talked about musicals."

“You’re great, he’s an idiot,” Brock said. “The man looks like a thylacine with a shaved head, trust me. You can do better.”

“A thylacine?” Dave said.

“Australian hyena-cat thing,” Brock muttered. “Weird as fuck. Extinct. And he’s too old for you.”

“I bet thylacines were adorable,” Dave said glumly, voice muffled by the steering wheel.

“No,” Brock said. He looked at Darcy. “Sweetheart, help me here.” 

“David, have you checked your texts?” Darcy said, grinning. She’d been scrolling through his messages.

“I muted my phone. There are too many happy couples on it,” Dave said. “It mocks me.”

“I’m gonna talk to him,” Brock vowed. 

“Oh God,” Dave said. “Please don’t.”

“Um, guys?” Darcy said. “He’s sent about ten panicked texts, worrying about Dave? He’s clearly interested in you?”

“Really?” Dave said, rising slowly. “How? Why?” There was a red line across his forehead. Brock tried to rub it off and he dodged. “Stop.”

“Lemme just--” Brock said. Dave swatted his hand away.

“He wants to see you again on Friday,” Darcy said. “He _hopes you didn’t misinterpret him trying to take it slow as disinterest,_ but he wanted to get to know you better. No pressure.” She beamed at Dave.

“What?” Dave said. He’d gone from dismayed to shocked to joyful.

“Tomorrow? He’s supposed to watch the fight with me tomorrow,” Brock said, dropping his attempt to shine Dave’s forehead. “I ordered pay per view and shit.”

“He’s offering to take Dave to Mezzaluna,” Darcy said.

“That’s a good restaurant,” Brock admitted. He looked at Dave. “You wanna go?” Brock asked. Dave nodded slowly in response to his uncle. 

“Yeah,” Dave said. “I want to go.”

“Okay,” Brock said. “But you make him pay. He’s got money.”

“You’re okay with this?” Dave said.

“No,” Brock said stubbornly. “But he should pay and take you good places and treat you right.”

“He paid for my books,” Dave admitted. “We ran into each other at the bookstore.”

“He bought you books? He doesn’t even read,” Brock said. He looked at Darcy. “What kind of sneaky shit is that?”

“You think he _nefariously_ bought Dave books?” Darcy said.

“It’s obviously a move,” Brock said, as Dave turned off his car and got out. “Didn’t you show me a meme about that? Buying people books instead of drinks?”

“I wish it was a move,” Dave said wistfully. He locked the car and sighed.

“You’ll get it worked out,” Darcy said.

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your obligatory live edge epoxy table inspo: https://www.etsy.com/listing/926337704/epoxy-table-dining-sofa-center-table-top?ref=pla_similar_listing_bot-1&pro=1&frs=1


	5. Dates and Fights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *I own nothing!

“I have something I want to say to you,” Brock said, voice carrying across the gym. Jack put the weight bar he was hefting back into its cradle.

“Yeah?” he said, sitting up. He readied himself for an angry Brock. “Go on, mate,” Jack said. He wiped his chest with a gym towel. Brock crossed the room.

“You like him?” Brock said. “Why do you fucking like him?”

“What?” Jack asked. Brock huffed and rolled his neck. “Listen, Brock—”

“I want reasons,” Brock insisted. “Why Dave?”

“I—I know there’s an age difference,” Jack stuttered. He had been turning it over in his mind. He felt slightly guilty, chasing someone so young. Like it made him selfish. Or worse, like a bloody creep. “But he—Dave’s _great._ He’s so funny and quick. Smart. I feel, uh, better when he’s around.”

“Better?” Brock said.

“I’m not explaining it right. You know I’m fucking terrible at explaining myself,” Jack muttered. He put his face in his hands for a moment. “He’s funny, but not cruel—-doesn’t cut me down.” He pushed his hands through his hair.

“Cut you down?” Brock said, clearly confused. Jack looked away.

“You don’t know how it feels when you’re dating somebody and their mates assume you’re just a dumb fucking jock, yeah? I put myself out there with guys in the arts, ‘cause I’m interested, but I’m—I can’t talk the way they talk, I can’t fit in right,” he muttered. 

“What?” Brock said. 

“My accent’s all wrong, my clothes are wrong, my bloody rings are all wrong. People respect me at work, but out there it’s all Crocodile Dundee and Steve Irwin and _aren’t you so pretty?”_ He chuckled dryly. “Fucking condescending at the best of times.”

“Really?” Brock said. “Shit. I didn’t know.”

“What was I supposed to say? My boyfriend’s friends make jokes about bimbos being an Australian bird and mock my bloody voice when I’m out of earshot?” Jack said. He exhaled. “I spent so much time trying to impress these”—he stopped and shook his head— “but Dave’s not like that. I realized I’d spent hours with ‘im and I never felt like he was talking down to me.”

“People think you’re a bimbo?” Brock said. 

“Yeah,” Jack said. He looked up. “That’s what you’re getting out of this? I tell you that your nephew’s a good person and that’s what you bloody get?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Brock said. There was a pause. “I mean, I knew you were dating some assholes, but I thought you liked ‘em.”

“You fucking idiot,” Jack said, laughing.

“Why not date somebody who likes what you like?” Brock said.

“I want somebody _not_ like me,” Jack said. “Somebody who can talk about their bloody feelings and—and books and all kinds of things.”

“Oh,” Brock said.

“It might be selfish, but I’m not letting you put me off,” Jack said, deciding to be honest. He gave Brock a pointed look, then dropped his gaze when he had another thought. “If he’s interested,” he added. “If Dave wants to go out with me. It’s up to him.”

“Uh-huh,” Brock said. He tilted his head, again. 

“What?” Jack said.

“I love you, pal, but if you break my nephew’s heart, I will push you out of a quinjet over the Indian Ocean and leave you like that couple in _Open Water,”_ Brock vowed. He cleared his throat. “Go talk to Davey, he’s in the break room.”

* * *

“Davey?” a familiar voice said. Dave sat down his coffee cup and turned slowly. Jack was standing there in the doorway, expression tentative. He was wearing tactical pants and one of those SHIELD t-shirts that fit like clingwrap. 

“Jack?” Dave said. He swallowed nervously. “I sent you a text.” He’d said yes to dinner. 

“I know,” Jack said. “Did you want me to pick you up, so you can drink?” He raked a hand through his hair. Dave was momentarily distracted and made a whimpering sound. “Something wrong?” Jack said.

“You, uh, just flashed some bicep at me,” Dave stuttered. “It was involuntary. Involuntary sound.”

“Yeah?” Jack said, grinning. When he smiled that widely, lines sprung up around his eyes. It was cute. He took a step closer to Dave.

“I, uh, might make lots of embarrassing accidental sounds,” Dave rambled.

“Yeah,” Jack said, taking another step closer.

“It’s a bad habit,” Dave confessed. “Terrible habit. I should stop.”

“Can I kiss you?” Jack said. Dave sucked in air.

“Uh, yes? I mean, if you want to? Are we allowed to kiss in a break ro—?” Dave began. His stopped talking when Jack cupped his face and kissed him gently. “Ohhhhh,” Dave said. “Oh God, you’re good at that.” He was totally sleeping with Jack Rollins, he realized. 

“Yeah?” Jack said, looking pleased. He grinned widely. He leaned in and kissed him again.

“Pick—pick me up tonight,” Dave got out, when Jack pulled back. Dave leaned forward as Jack nodded and lowered his voice slightly. He was thinking _be cool, be mature, don’t giggle because the beard tickles._ “And, uh, I’ll bring protection,” he said. The words took him by surprise. Even Jack looked slightly taken aback. “I insist on it,” Dave rambled.

“Yeah, of course,” Jack said. He rubbed Dave’s shoulder. “We’re good.” He frowned slightly. “But there’s no need to rush. We can wait, if you want to do that?”

“Nope,” Dave said, looking into Jack’s eyes. “I do not want to do that.” He blushed furiously. 

“Yeah?” Jack said.

“Yeah,” Dave said.

* * *

“Thirty-six?! He’s thirty-six?” his mother said to Dave. He was Zoom chatting his mother and nonna before Jack picked him up. His mom looked stunned. “You’re dating someone my age?”

“When I was his age, I loved older men,” Angela said.

“Ma, you were married!” Fallon said.

“So?” Angela said, shrugging. “If I can get married, Davey can date. Cary Grant,” she said, sighing. “I loved Cary Grant. That movie with Audrey Hepburn, you know the one—”

“It’s different—” Fallon said, before Brock strolled into the living room in sweatpants and another tank top. He’d been showering before Darcy came over. He always did that. Dave made a face at his newly applied cologne and the snug tank top he was wearing. 

“You know it’s forty degrees out,” Dave said. “And Darcy’s seen all your business.” Brock scoffed.

“I gave Jack a talk, Fal,” he said, raking a hand through his damp hair. “He knows he can’t fuck this up with Davey.”

“Oh God,” Dave said, cupping his face in his hands. “What did you say?”

“It’s Jack? Your Jack?” Angela said.

“I was trying not to mention that,” Dave said. His family knew Jack. That was a complication.

“Oh my God,” Fallon said.

“Mom,” Dave said, sighing heavily.

“I love Jack,” Angela said. Dave looked up. His nonna was beaming. “He always called me whenever we thought you were dead,” she said. 

“Huh?” Dave said.

“She means me,” Brock said, leaning over Dave’s shoulder and mussing his hair. 

“Hey,” Dave said.

“I made sure he’s got condoms, Fal,” Brock added.

“You’re making this worse,” Dave said. 

“No,” his mother said. “If you’re old enough to date a thirty-six year old, you should be able to talk about condoms in front of anybody,” she said.

“Okay,” Dave said. “What would you like to discuss, Mom?” He knew it was petulant, but he stressed the last word.

“I thought Jack had a boyfriend?” she asked.

“No,” Dave said.

“Eduardo dumped him,” Brock supplied. “Been letting all his fancy friends treat Jack like shit, apparently.” He scrunched his nose. “He likes that Davey doesn’t make fun of him or think he’s dumb,” Brock added.

“W--what?” Dave said, turning his head towards Brock in shock.

“You listen to his stories and don’t make fun of his accent or think he’s stupid, he likes that,” Brock said, patting his shoulder.

“Aw,” Angela said. “Poor Jack.”

“People make fun of his accent?” Dave said, stunned. “People make fun of him?”

“Not around me, but yeah,” Brock said, giving his shoulders another squeeze. “Hey, Ma, guess what we’re doing tonight?” he said, beaming. “I’m dying Darcy’s hair.”

“Does she have a backup plan for when you screw it up?” Fallon cracked. 

“Hey,” Brock said, frowning. “She says it ain’t that hard.” Fallon snorted. “Your mother is mean to me,” he told Dave. Dave was checking his phone. Jack would be there any minute.

“I don’t know if I like this,” Angela said suddenly.

“What?” Dave said, looking up.

“Darcy shouldn’t let you see her with haircolor on, it kills the romance,” Angela said. “A woman needs mystery.”

“Nonnina, she dyes _his_ hair,” Dave said, grinning slightly. He wasn’t sure Brock told people, but he’d found them--Brock sitting on the floor, Darcy holding a bottle filled with inky liquid with gloved hands--and laughed for ten minutes.

“I still got mystery, Ma,” Brock said, looking smug.

“You’re ridiculous,” Dave’s mother said, “and if Dave gets hurt, I’m blaming you.”

“Okay,” Brock said. “I can handle it.” Dave knew his uncle liked nothing more than to aggravate his mother. The doorbell rang.

“I’ll get it,” Dave said, hopping up. He was walking away when he heard Brock.

“He’s real happy,” his uncle said.

“You better not be happy,” his mother grumbled.

“It’s gonna be fine. You just got your panties in a bunch because Jack’s _almost_ your age,” Brock said behind him. His voice was gleeful.

“You asshole,” his mother began. Dave opened the door. Jack was standing there.

“Hi,” Dave said.

“Hi,” Jack said. Dave glanced back over his shoulder. The sound of his mother and his uncle bickering was audible.

“I’m leaving!” he called, then stepped out quickly, shutting the door. He caught himself exhaling and then grinned at Jack as he locked the door. “So, Mezzaluna?” he said.

  
  
  


“Thank you,” Dave said, as the waiter sat down their drinks. It was a very nice restaurant. Brock hadn’t lied. Dave looked at Jack across the table. The good lighting made him look especially handsome, Dave thought. But Jack was frowning. “What’s wrong?” Dave asked.

“I, uh,” Jack said. “Somebody I used to date just walked in.”

“Oh,” Dave said.

“Don’t look,” Jack said, a second too late. Dave had looked. 

“The guy in the blue suit?” Dave asked, feeling faintly stunned. He’d been expecting something utterly different than the silver-haired, formally dressed man being seated across the restaurant. He had a beard. A beard and an _I knew Hemingway in Cuba_ vibe, really. He was even wearing a Panama hat. Dave flicked his gaze back to Jack and tried not to grin too widely.

“Yeah,” Jack said. “What?”

“You dated the _Dos Equis_ man?” Dave joked. “I’m worried I’m not fascinating enough.”

“Bloody hell,” Jack muttered, flushing slightly. “I have the worst luck.” The tips of his ears were red. Dave didn’t want to tease him too much, remembering Brock’s words. 

“It’s fine,” Dave said. “Relax.”

“You don’t want to leave?” Jack said.

“Why would we leave?” Dave said. He leaned forward over their menus. “If he comes over and says hi, we say hi back, it’s fine.” 

“It’s fine,” Jack repeated, nodding.

“We’re adults,” Dave said. “I’ve been an adult for a whole week.” Jack smiled at him, looking relieved. Dave couldn’t resist. “It’ll be fine. Unless he challenges me to a duel for you or something,” Dave said, smirking. “I’d probably have to decline, he looks pretty experienced.” Jack clapped his hand over his mouth; Dave realized he was trying not to giggle out loud. Dave raised his eyebrows. 

“Stop,” Jack begged, after a moment.

“I’m done,” Dave said, picking up his menu. He scanned the list. “Do you mind if I have garlic? I mean, I know I’m young and pretty and all, but I still wanna be cute.” A stray giggle escaped from his date. “I feel like you’re humor-deprived,” Dave said calmly. He wasn’t _that_ funny. He was a little funny, but really. But every time Jack looked at him over dinner, the Australian was clearly holding in a giggle. Had he not been around any funny people? It was perplexing. Dave was eating scampi and wondering that when Jack’s expression went a little funny. “What?” he said.

“Christ,” Jack muttered. “He’s coming over here!”

“This is fine. Totally fine,” Dave said, grinning. He looked at Jack, not glancing over his shoulder at the approaching man. 

* * *

  
  


“We gotta do the barrier cream and the cotton strips,” Brock said. Darcy was wearing an old t-shirt and sitting sideways in a dining chair. 

“I never do that,” she told him. She usually just slapped color on her head and didn’t worry too much about staining.

“It’s in your book,” he insisted. She’d brought a book--Lori Goddard-Clark’s _The Haircolor Mix Book--_ with her to do his hair the first time. “You did it with me,” he said.

“Because you’d be way fussier about forehead dye stains than I am,” Darcy said pertly. He scoffed and flipped through the pages. 

“Which formula do you want?” he said. “Espresso?” They’d done Espresso for him. 

“I was thinking Licorice,” Darcy said. “Am I too pale for Licorice?”

“Nah,” Brock said. “It’d be fun if we matched though.”

“Yeah,” Darcy said.

“And you like Espresso better than Licorice,” Brock added. “In your regular day.” She nodded.

“True. Okay, you’ve convinced me. We’re the Espresso couple now. Pretty soon, we start wearing each other’s clothes, then I copy your haircut and we start finishing each other‘s sentences and really creeping people out,” she said. He made a face.

“We’re not creepy,” he insisted.

“Not yet,” she said. “Long term plan.” Darcy grinned. “I think we should get matching jewelry, maybe leather wrap bracelets,” she joked, but he smiled genuinely.

“Okay,” Brock said.

“I was kidding!” Darcy said.

“Too late,” he said. “We’re getting bracelets.” He smirked.

“What about matching hats?” Darcy countered.

“We could do matching hats,” Brock said. He opened Darcy’s tin of Nivea and dabbed at her forehead. 

“We’re doing this first?” she said. “I haven’t even mixed the color yet!”

“I’ll do it,” he said. “You’re messy.” Darcy scoffed at him, but it was amusing to watch him carefully measure out the auburn brown color that acted as a filler for the black and dark brown shades in the formula.

“You’re very tidy,” she told him. “It’s not that I’m messy, it’s that you’re especially clean.”

“Uh-huh,” he said, grinning. “Sure.”

“I thought you were watching the fight tonight?” Darcy said.

“Nah, Jack’s coming over this weekend,” Brock said. “No spoilers for who won. I saved it.”

“I would never,” she said dryly.

“Clip the towel around your shoulders, baby,” he said as he shook the bottle. Inside, the formula was darkening slowly.

“Okay,” Darcy said.

* * *

“Tom was a fun guy,” Dave said, leaning against the doorframe as Jack unlocked his front door. “Very entertaining.” This time, he giggled. 

“How much of that plonk did you have?” Jack asked, shaking his head. He was grinning.

“What the hell is a plonk?” Dave said, laughing. “And excuse me, your ex wanted to tell all his Reagan stories--”

“Plonk is cheap bloody wine,” Jack said, ushering Dave into the apartment. “And you encouraged him to tell that story about Nancy Regan running him over in Hecht’s,” he scolded.

“It wasn’t Nancy, it was her Secret Service guy,” Dave said, laughing harder. “How dare you accuse Nancy Reagan of actually exerting _force_ to injure someone. You know she only did that through _policy.”_ He made his voice mock-horrified. 

“Very funny,” Jack said. He’d gone slightly more serious all of a sudden. Dave looked at him, blinked, and stepped directly into his arms. “Hey,” Jack said, clearly startled.

“Hey,” Dave said, standing on his toes to kiss him. He felt Jack relax. “What’s wrong?” Dave asked, face still close. He was slightly worried his Nancy Reagan joke had been mistimed.

“You sure you’re sober enough--?” Jack asked.

“Ohhhh,” Dave said. “Look at you, all worried about me.” He leaned against Jack’s neck and inhaled deeply. “I really, really wanna climb you like a tree,” he whispered.

“Yeah?” Jack said.

“I didn’t really climb trees when I was young, I feel like I fucking missed out,” Dave said, tugging Jack towards the couch. Jack giggled again. They sunk down together and he kissed Jack again. The Australian was quiet between kisses, even as he cupped the back of Dave’s head. He seemed into things, based on the way he followed Dave’s movements. Dave decided to break the silence. “Talk to me, Jack,” Dave said. “Don’t go radio silent, I’ll get nervous I’m a terrible kisser and nobody’s told me.”

“No,” Jack said, shaking his head.

“Good,” Dave said, sighing happily. He was half in Jack’s lap. He leaned in, pressing his nose against the collar of Jack’s shirt and nuzzling his neck. 

“I, uh,”--Jack sighed-- “I’m not a rough stuff guy.”

“Okay,” Dave said, nodding. “More information, please?” He tried to nuzzle encouragingly.

“People expect me to be--to be the guy who wants to rail ‘em,” Jack said. “Like I’m gonna slap ‘em around or summat.”

“Oh,” Dave said, nodding again. “Railed. That’s not a fun-sounding word, really. I don’t think I like it. Doesn’t sound nice.”

“No,” Jack said. He looked slightly sheepish and tentative. His shoulders had gone tense. Dave tried to think of something to say that was reassuring. He hadn’t expected that Jack would be the more nervous one. Wasn’t he supposed to be anxious right now? He felt almost giddy. Jack liked him. It was thrilling. He was going to be smug and hungover at a later date. 

“I don’t want you to slap me, okay?” Dave said, kissing Jack’s angular jawline. He felt the tension ease in Jack’s shoulders. Dave kept talking between kisses, trying to help him relax. “I don’t have a lot of strong...preferences. But that’s a pretty solid one. Don’t let the six-foot guy with these arms”--he squeezed Jack’s arm lightly-- “smack you across the face. Or on the ass, probably. That seems sensible,” Dave said. Jack smiled slowly. 

“You’re too bloody nice,” he said, in a voice Dave hadn’t heard before. It was a little low. He didn’t mind it. 

“Why don’t you tell me what you do like?” Dave said, starting on Jack’s shirt buttons. He peered into the collar curiously. Jack laughed.

“I wanna do something for you,” Jack said in that low tone. He slid Dave out of his lap abruptly and Dave made a dismayed noise, before he realized Jack was shedding his shirt and sinking to his knees in front of him. 

“You’re doing this?” Dave said, embarrassed by the way his voice went up. It had gone a little squeaky.

“Yeah,” Jack said, expression strangely intent. He glanced into Dave’s eyes. “Shift your hips up for me, love?” He was undoing Dave’s fly.

“Sure, yeah,” Dave said, lifting his hips a fraction. His heart rate had gone up when Jack raked his hands over the top of his thighs. They were warm hands, he realized. He didn’t even need to remind Jack about the condom; the Australian retrieved one from a drawer in the coffee table and then edged Jack’s knees apart gently to make room for his wide shoulders. “But you don’t have to, like, kneel on the floor--we can do this on the bed, if you wa---ohhh, fuck,” Dave stuttered. “Wow. Wow.”

  
  


* * *

“I can’t believe I lost my fight buddy _and_ my nephew,” Brock said, sighing. Darcy grinned at him. Jack and Dave were spending the weekend together; Jack had apparently decided to skip watching the fight with Brock. He was sulking a little. Darcy thought he might be a tad jealous. Just a smidge. She definitely was not going to tell him that Dave had texted her to say Jack was spoiling him with breakfast in bed today. She’d invited Jane over as a distraction. Across the room, Jane looked up and rolled her eyes.

“Please,” she said. “I don’t see Darcy for days at a time and when she does show up on Mondays, her clothes are inside out.”

“She’s got you there,” Darcy said.

“It’s different,” Brock said. “She’s not your nephew.”

“No,” Jane said. She narrowed her eyes. “Has anybody told you that you’re both starting to look alike?”

“We got matching hats and those are his reading glasses,” Darcy said. “Why don’t you watch the fight with Brock?” she suggested to Jane. “You like hitting.”

“You say that like I’m out of control,” Jane said, peering at her book. 

“Not this second….” Darcy muttered.

“Who says fighters are out of control?” Brock asked. Darcy watched avidly as they got into a little dispute about the merits of fighting. “A fight is, uh, like a ballet,” Brock insisted.

“You’re saying boxing is balletic?” Jane replied. She looked at him incredulously.

“She did ballet,” Darcy supplied.

“I never hit anybody,” Jane sassed.

“Ahem,” Darcy said. “Did you or did you not smack Jennifer Sullivan after your ballet recital in fourth grade?”

“Who told you?” Jane said.

“Your mom, hellloooo,” Darcy said. 

“You hit a kid?” Brock said.

“I was a kid!” Jane insisted. She exhaled. “Fine. I’ll watch your fight. Who’s fighting?” Her question led Brock into a long discussion of each fighter, their recent performance, and various strategic weaknesses. Jane--almost against her will--started to look interested.

“Noooooooooooooooooo!” The shriek, emanating from the living room, made Darcy wince as she sprinkled salt over her popcorn. 

“Uh-oh,” Darcy whispered to herself. She knew which one of them had screamed no. The neighbors were going to complain.

“What are you doing?” Jane yelled.

“He don’t got it--he’s down!” Brock said. Darcy turned the corner, carrying the bowl and stopped to gaze at the scene in front of her. On the television, two middleweight champions were slugging it out. On the couch, two lightweight champs were practically foaming at the mouth.

“Hit him!” Jane yelled. She was practically bouncing up and down on the couch. On the other end of the couch, Brock was leaning forward, gaze intense, hands on his knees. He got quiet at moments like this, Darcy knew. 

“Motherfucker, fuck--” he was muttering to himself.

“Come on! Come on!” Jane said.

“I may have made a strategic mistake,” Darcy said to no one in particular.

-The End-  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brock & Darcy turning into one of those couples that look alike:


End file.
